IPSO FACTO
by Oleander Black
Summary: Draco is seeing Harry Potter's future.  Then he's seeing himself in Harry Potter's future.  But visions aren't inevitable-at least not exactly.  Rated M for preslash, slash, mpreg, swearing, and adult themes.  AU, EWE.
1. I  Visionary

I. Visionary

From 10 to 2 every morning, Draco makes potions in the workroom in the cellar. They are simple things, not much past NEWT level, remedies for common illnesses for the most part, which he sells in his shop from 3 to 7, after he's had his lunch. Occasionally he will take a commission for something that is truly a challenge, and rearranges his schedule around brewing it. He never takes a commission that requires him to close his shop for more than three days at a time. He fixes his meals alone in the flat above his shop. The place is small, but manages to live up to Draco's opulent tastes most of the time. It should. He had designed the building himself, after all. The workroom in the cellar is cool and well ventilated. It has a good kitchen, and Draco has become almost as fond of cooking as he is of brewing. The sitting room is simple and elegant, with a fireplace on one wall, giant, stained-glass windows on another, and Draco's personal collection of favorite books on the shelves that line the others. One of the doors in the sitting room is magically connected to Draco's personal (and more extensive) library at Malfoy Manor. There is a guest bedroom spelled to decorate itself to the inhabitant's taste, complete with its own bathroom. Draco's room contains yet more books, his magnificent, magical wardrobe, and his bed—one of Draco's greatest luxuries, given the spells on it. The only thing that might have been more pointlessly epicurean is the bathroom, which is nearly palatial—Draco's bent for cleanliness has never left him, and he enjoys bathing as much as he enjoys flying. Malfoy elves are employed to keep the place clean, although Draco never sees them. He doesn't want to, and they know his schedule. He takes Sundays off and visits his parents.

For only an hour a day, Draco goes to the attic. From 9 to 10 every evening, Draco ascends to the only room his the house that he cleans. No one but him has entered it, from the day that the construction wizards finished building the structure. Draco had done a series of exhausting rituals to cleanse the place of their psychic traces, and proceeded to magically modify the room to his specifications. Scrying is his favorite method of attempting to prophesy, and he has magical mirrors, bowls of enchanted water, crystals on chains, and maps of nearly every place in the world.

Tonight, Draco does not feel like scrying. Instead, he seats himself on the floor, in the center of an Arithmantic circle, and meditates. He rarely gets prophecy from this method, but tonight something has drawn him to it. He casts his mind adrift, and then—

_He is in a private parlor at The Drowned Dryad, one of the more respected inns in wizarding Llanfaelrhys, the Welsh town in which he lives. A young woman with black hair and startling silver-grey eyes is crying on a couch._

_Harry Potter enters. He looks to be about forty years old, so Draco's vision won't be pertinent for about fifteen years at least._

_The woman rises and throws herself into Potter's arms. "Da, what am I supposed to do?"_

"_About what, sweetheart?" Potter says gently, petting her hair. "What's wrong? Why did you want to meet me here, instead of talking at home?"_

"_I'm in love with Hugo Weasley!" she wails. "Father will _never_ forgive me!"_

_Potter steers the girl back to her place on the couch. "Oh, Chara, darling, we've known you were in love with Hugo for a very long time. And there is nothing for your father to forgive you for. He loves you, and he wants you to be happy_."

_Draco's vision begins to spin, signaling the end of the vision, but as he is drawn back to his attic, he sees Potter pull the girl into a hug, and look up, directly into Draco's eyes._

Draco comes back to himself abruptly, shivering as he always does when he uses this method. He stands carefully, not entirely trusting himself, and descends from the attic.

He proceeds to take a hot bath, soothing his body, which is always drained, for some reason, by the trance-state. He emerges, chooses a book, reads in bed until 11, puts down his book and extinguishes the lights with a wave of his wand, and goes to sleep.

The next day Draco rises at 7. He performs his ablutions, makes and eats breakfast, brushes his teeth again, and gets dressed. At 8, he Floos to the Ministry.

Most of the Ministry's employees do not arrive until 9, so it is relatively easy for Draco to check-in and catch his elevator down to the Department of Mysteries. As a registered Seer, Draco is obligated to report his prophesy to the Department, which catalogs, stores, and analyzes it. Draco has never Seen anything momentous, but his scrying abilities mean that he is frequently asked to look for specific people or places, on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When that happens, the DMLE tells him as little as they can get away with, and Draco is never told if his prophesy has any effect on their investigations.

Draco reports to the Sub-Division on Immediate Person-Specific Oracles for this one, since he already knows one of the people he Saw. Ironically enough, this is the division in which Potter works.

After the war, Potter quickly ditched law enforcement, learned how to read, and joined the Department of Mysteries IPSO subdivision, citing a wish to help people deal with the being at the whim of fate, since no one ever really considered how the subjects of prophecy feel. Draco idly wonders how often people show up, still making prophecies about the Chosen One.

Potter is the only one in the office when Draco enters. He conjures a chair for Draco, and summons a cataloguing form.

Draco sits. He and Potter get along without fighting, these days. Of course, that might be because they never say a word to each other that doesn't go on one of the cataloguing forms. This includes words such as "Hello," "Goodbye," and "Thank you."

Potter speaks. "Prophecy class?"

"Vision."

Potter's quill scratches the word down. "Medium?"

"Meditation-trance augmented by Arithmancy. Circle-structured, with an inscribed pentagram as a focusing agent."

Potter is obviously using shorthand, the quill is not scratching nearly enough to take all that down. Perhaps he is _drawing_ Draco's Arithmancy diagram?

"Dated?"

"June 25th, between 9 and 10 in the evening."

Potter refills the quill and blots it. "Estimation of timeframe?"

"About twenty to thirty years in the future."

The quill squeaks. "Subjects, in order of appearance."

"Unknown female, late teens to early twenties, referred to as 'sweetheart,' 'Chara,' and 'darling;' and Harry James Potter, aged between forty and sixty years, also referred to as 'Da.'"

The quill ceases its scratching abruptly.

Slowly, very slowly, Potter places the quill on his desk, pushes back his chair, and stands. Draco has the impression that Potter is trying to tower over him.

"You think you're funny, Malfoy? Telling me I'll have a daughter when they told me I'll never have children? How did you find out? If Xav—if Healer Winslow told you, he's forsworn, and I'll have him—"

"Potter, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Now if you'd perform the extraction spell, I have a schedule to keep."

Potter blinks. "_Oraculi sortem_," he incants, bewildered.

Draco feels the dizzy, tugging sensation of the spell as it copies the memory of his vision into a vial of clear liquid on Potter's desk, and is grateful that he is still seated. He takes a moment to collect himself, rises, and leaves without another word to Potter.

He arrives with just enough time to change into work robes, then descends to the cellar to brew his potions of the day.

In the evening, Draco is once again drawn to the pentagram. He has barely settled into his trance when the vision possesses him. This happens to him even less often than the impulse to work in a trance. When he is possessed by prophecy, it means that he is in his own body, some years in the future, and limited to that body's field of vision, although he can take note of details that seem unimportant in the moment, but do a great deal to help him determine _when_ he can expect the events he is seeing to occur.

_Draco is looking into a mirror. Potter is behind him, eyes on the floor, shirtless, perched on the footboard of the bed. Draco does not recognize the room._

"_Are you sure about this, Draco?" he asks shyly._

"_Yes," Draco says, turning from the mirror. "Look at me, Harry."_

_Harry raises his frightened eyes to meet Draco's burning ones. Draco steps forward, settling his hands on Harry's hips. He leans in toward Harry and whispers in his ear: "I'm sure." Then he gives an audacious lick to Harry's earlobe._

_Harry shudders but tilts his head toward Draco's mouth to ask for more._

_Draco feels a surge of lust and triumph. He pushes Harry back onto the bed and proceeds to Harry's mouth. He feels Harry surrender to him completely._

Draco is pulled from the vision violently. This is how he knows that he is not permitted to see what comes next. He knows that it will be important. And he knows that sometime, very soon, he'll get to fuck Potter.

That thought excites him more than anything has for months.

Draco lies in the pentagram for a very long time, just thinking about his vision.

When he goes to sleep, it is hours past his normal self-imposed curfew. He manages to wake on time to report his vision to IPSO without disrupting his routine, but only just. He is more than relieved to discover that Potter is absent. Now that the thought of fucking Potter is in his head, he's not sure if he could look at him without making his lust painfully obvious.

Draco nearly ruins the Drowsy-Relief Draught he brews that afternoon, so preoccupied is he with his vision. That night, when he goes to the attic, he meticulously avoids the inscribed pentagram. He attempts to scry with a bowl of holy water for over an hour, but no visions appear. It is both a relief and a disappointment. He sleeps uneasily, but keeps his normal hours.

It takes four days for Draco to break. He is exhausted from improper sleep, is a day behind his brewing schedule for having ruined a batch of Pepper-up Potion, and has seen no visions of any kind since he refuses to use the pentagram. He has a splitting headache, and he can no longer resist the temptation to know if he will see Potter again.

Draco closes the shop early, skips dinner, and goes to the attic. He seats himself in the pentagram and draws he first breath in his meditation when the vision seizes him.

_He is in St. Mungo's. A sign on the wall says 'Marcella Mortensen Maternity Ward.' He is sitting on a bench, with a little girl on his lap._

"_Will Da be okay?" she asks Draco._

"_Yes, Chara. He'll be just fine," Draco answers. He feels his gut twist at the words. He isn't sure._

_Ron Weasley appears in his line of vision. "Draco?" he asks. "Do you want me to take her?"_

_Draco feels numb. "When they let me in," he says._

"_Daddy?" the girl, _Chara_ asks. "Are _you_ okay?"_

"_I'll be fine, sweetheart," he says. "I'm just nervous." He hugs her close._

_Weasley has deposited himself in the chair next to Draco. "It never gets any easier, Draco," he informs him. "You'll make yourself sick with worry every time, even though you know it'll turn out all right. Now stop choking your daughter and give her to me."_

_Draco loosens his hold on Chara. She presses a kiss to his cheek and crawls onto Weasley's lap. "Daddy worries about Da all the time," she says matter-of-factly. Da says Daddy doesn't know how to not worry._

_Hermione Granger walks into the room. Draco is on his feet in an instant. "How—" he begins, but she cuts him off._

"_Harry is fine. So are your sons," she says. "Come see them. Ron will bring Chara in in a few minutes."_

_Draco follows her out of the room, and down the hall. Harry is there, weary but satisfied, a face like he often wears after sex, but this face is different because Harry is also holding two small bundles.. "Draco," he says. "I want to introduce you to your sons: Scorpius Lucius, and your heir, Severus Albus Malfoy."_

_Draco smiles and bends to kiss Harry. "I love you," he says. Draco picks up his sons, first Scorpius and then Severus. They are absolutely identical, but already Draco can see them growing into the names Harry has chosen for them. They are good, strong names. Severus will make a fine Malfoy heir, and Scorpius will be his staunch defender._

_Weasley enters with Chara. She squeals, flings herself on Harry and then demands to hold her brothers. Harry and Draco help her, smiling._

_The scene fades to black as Harry brings little Severus to his breast to nurse, while Chara cradles Scorpius._

Draco wakes more gently from this vision than any he has ever experienced. He wakes with a sense of contentment unlike any he has ever known. He's in shock.

Later, Draco will pace, and rage, and hate that his Sight has predetermined this for him, but in this moment, he basks in the pure love of that future moment. It is assured. That moment will _belong to him_.

In the pleasant haze the shock has left him in, Draco decides that he will not report this vision to the Ministry. Let Potter be surprised about his future for once.

* * *

><p>AN: I began this story last spring, around the same time that the first chapters of "Rational Decisions" were posted. Then RL went to mental & emotional shit. So if anyone is reading this is reading that story, I'm sorry. I finally got back into working on my fanfiction at the end of NaNoWriMo, and this is the piece that kept my attention. "Rational Decisions" will _probably_ be updated soon. This piece is listed as complete, although I may add chapters periodically. Each segment will be a complete episode-this will probably just be a series posted as a single story. Enjoy. As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


	2. II Pluperfect

II. Pluperfect

The moment Malfoy leaves his office, Harry reviews the vision. It is, of course, against regulations to do so, but he has to know. Taunting like that is no longer like Malfoy, but Harry had forgotten that for a moment, and now, should Malfoy return to his old ways, he has ammunition. Harry needs to know what that ammunition is.

Malfoy's visions are always exceptionally clear and concise, and although Harry knows Malfoy is usually a scryer, this one conforms to Malfoy's pattern. The vision is brief, no more than a few minutes in duration, and it leaves Harry shaking.

It is impossible.

It is impossible because Harry knows he can't have children.

It is impossible because it would mean that Harry's golden future with Ginny was destroyed for no reason at all.

Harry makes a decision. He created the spells that IPSO FACTO uses to record and catalog visions, and it is hardly a thought to know how to remove one that was entered into the system. In the blink of an eye, no one knows that Draco Malfoy reported a vision moments earlier. Harry takes the now-ordinary paper and the vial with the vision-memory, and stashes them in his desk.

For the rest of the day, Harry is on edge. He has particularly bad luck-today is the day that he is on Recording duty until three, so he sits, hoping no one will notice his agitation, and does his job. At three he switches over to Reviewing, and carries Malfoy's vision inside his shirt while he retrieves the queue of prophecies that have been slated for him from the processing room. At five, his workday is over, and Harry disapparates directly from the Department of Mysteries' backdoor, rather than taking the elevators up and walking through the Atrium as he usually would.

Harry lives in Grimmauld Place, and he hand the house have come to a kind of understanding. It is still tempermental at best, but Harry has successfully cleaned it from top to bottom, and redecorated in a way that makes it warm and comfortable for _him_ while paying homage to the Blacks. As witness the library, which is were he arrives. Harry snaps his fingers to light the sconces, rather than casting the fire spell, which makes them gutter and turn purple for the rest of the week (after his fire spell has been bounced back in his face). He taps the clawed armchair on the back twice so that it pulls out enough for him to sit, and waves a hand carelessly at the fireplace to light it, and beckons the desk over. Then he summons a quill, ink and parchment, and produces the prophecy and the sheet he had begun filling in for Records from where he had them stashed in his coat. The summoning spell is the first thing that requires thought in this routine.

Harry takes a deep breath, and reviews the prophecy again. It is no less upsetting this time. He sits in silence for a full ten minutes before he tries again. This time, he manages to keep himself calm enough to take note of some details-only a few, but still, enough.

The girl is certainly his: she has his hair—jet black and straying from the braid. Her eyes are shaped like his, as are the stubborn set to her mouth and chin. Not Ginny's. No, Ginny is with Aidan now, and the Tutshill Tornadoes have the only husband-and-wife team of Beaters in the league. But the girl could never be Ginny's. No Weasley child would ever be that freckle-free.

Harry has to wonder what will happen between him and the Weasleys that would make his daughter think he'd be upset at the thought of her being in love with one. He scratches out a few notes, stashes them and the prophecy in the locking drawer, rises, and dismisses the furniture with a wave of his hand. He'll learn nothing more from the prophecy tonight, but he does have other avenues to pursue, he is very good at what he does.

Not too many people realize just how much Harry has shaped the Prophecy division in the Department of Mysteries. Prophecies are catalogued and stored, yes, but Harry has also added a few things.

When the Department had approached him about Prophecy, Harry had been hesitant. Then they'd brought up investigative prophecy and prophecy investigation, and Harry had been hooked. He now worked as a liason between the Auror Division and scryers like Malfoy on a regular basis, but half his time was spent tracking down the elements of prophecies, dropping a quiet hint the ears of the right people once they knew all they could know, and generally not letting people feel like puppets, as he had a time or two.

In this most unofficial case, Harry knows where to begin. His first reaction is his first line of inquiry. How is it possible for him to have a biological child?

Harry tosses Floo powder into the fire, steps in, and calls out "Healer's Hill!" He spins with the flames, and just catches himself in time for his exit—not graceful, but at least he doesn't fall on his face. A quick charm strips the soot from his clothing, and he lifts his head and greets the secretary-new since the last time he's seen Xavier at the office. She flicks her wand to send an alert to the inner office, and Harry sits down to wait.

Harry hates Xavier's office. It's too clean, too nice, and that jars with the awful, humiliating memories of Xavier handing over the results of their fertility tests, the stony look on Ginny's face, and the devastation he'd felt when she'd turned to him and asked for a divorce, without further thought.

Fortunately, Xavier's arrival dragged him from those thoughts. The man had turned into a good friend during the time that Harry had avoided all the Weasleys in the wake of the divorce. That is why Harry is here now, and not getting his diagnosis checked by another Healer.

"Harry?" Xavier asks. "What are you doing here?"

Harry winces. Xavier knows how much he hates this place. "Do you have some time? Something important has come up, and I need to ask you some questions."

Xavier blinks and throws a glance at the secretary.

"You have an hour and half until the Tattings come in," she reports.

"Come in, then, Harry," Xavier says, and beckons toward his office door.

Harry follows, closes the door, locks and wards it twice, and then turns to Xavier. He can't help noticing that the room has changed. The décor is similar, but the walls are now a soothing sage green instead of white, and the contents of the walls have been rearranged.

"How can I help you, Harry?"

Harry frowns. "I ran into something…it implied that…oh Merlin, how do I says this?" He meets Xavier's eyes. "How sure are you of my diagnosis?"

It is Xavier's turn to frown. "Harry, you know I've checked you over three times. I'm as sure as it is possible to be that you will never sire children."

"Then why did one of my seers bring in a vision that shows me twenty years from now with a girl who is _clearly_ my biological daughter?" Harry snarls, frustrated.

Xavier furrows his brow. "Harry," he says softly. "I never said—you came in with Ginevra, so you only got one fertility test—you can't _sire_ children—that is, I didn't think you were—I tried to feel you out and make the offer, but—Ginny obviously wasn't interested in the other route—"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Harry shouts.

Xavier's concern is set in every line of his face. "Sit, Harry," he sighs, and rounds his desk to take his own seat.

Harry doesn't move.

"Sit," Xavier repeats, and Harry obeys stiffly.

Xavier glances down, then up at Harry again. His face is pinched, and his eyes are sad. "Harry," he begins. "The day you and Ginevra first came to me, you will recall that you were given a questionnaire with some very personal, but very important questions for your diagnosis. Both you and she indicated that you were exclusive, participated in no experimental sex practices, and were completely heterosexual."

"I am!"

"Harry, please," Xavier says. "Calm down. What I mean to say is, that based on that questionnaire, you were only tested to find out if you could _sire_ children."

"What else would you have tested for?" Harry exclaims, furious. "Next you'll be telling me that I can get pregnant!"

"That's exactly what I could still test for, Harry."

"What?"

"Your answers to the questionnaire convinced me that you would never be open to having sexual relations with a man, so I never tested to see if you had a viable protowomb."

Harry stands up. "This isn't funny, Xavier."

"No, it isn't," Xavier retorts. "_Sit down_. I am trying to tell you that if you want biological children, it is entirely possible that you could have them, if you are willing to have sex with a man. I can test you now, if you like."

"I don't…how…I don't understand," Harry mutters.

"How does it work?" Xavier is in comfortable territory now, he has the answers. "Most wizards have a protowomb, semen and the magical surge that accompanies orgasm can activate it and shove your organs around so that you have room for a baby. Wizards only carry for six months, it's too dangerous to go longer, and the fetus' growth is accelerated by the same…surges…that lead to conception."

Harry feels as if he's going to vomit. His stomach rolls unpleasantly, and he is certain that he is turning green. But—_children_. And he's got nothing against queers, really. Couldn't he try? His stomach flip-flops again. Unbidden, the memory of Malfoy, straightlaced and agitated, staring at him with pale silver-grey eyes, comes to the forefront of his mind.

Harry has seen those eyes recently. He has seen those eyes less than an hour ago, when he reviewed Malfoy's prophecy.

Harry rises on unsteady limbs, thanks Xavier, and does not notice the Healer standing to chase him down as he stumbles out of the office and Apparates home.

The next day, Harry calls in sick. Then he takes a month off from work out of accumulated leave. He places sneak-spells to alert him if any other prophecies concerning him are filed, or if Draco Malfoy returns, and departs for Scotland. He needs to be at Hogwarts. He needs to be far away from Draco Malfoy and prophecies that will ruin his life. He does not consider that Draco Malfoy is under contract to provide Hogwarts with more than half of its potions. Hogwarts has always been the place Harry goes to find himself.

* * *

><p>AN: This is, I think, a very different vibe from Draco's chapter, and it's supposed to be; Harry's outlook is very different from Draco's. It's a lot of exposition, but I think I needed to put it here to set up Harry's rationale going into future interactions. Hope you are enjoying. As always, constructive remarks are greatly appreciated. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, reading those makes my day.


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